


THE WITCH IN THE WOODS

by ffelweed



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: also infidelity and abortion in this story so fair warning, also this used to be two separate stories but i’m just making them chapters, her name is anaise allen and she is bitter, this one focuses around my undead mage, tw for suicide attempt!, yet another old warcraft story i’m posting here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25858300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffelweed/pseuds/ffelweed
Summary: Deep in the woods of Gilneas, there once lived a witch. Her cottage was small, humble, and yet greenery covered it, grasses and mosses keeping the bricks together long after time should have torn them apart. She grew her garden on her roof, meticulous and fruitful, and kept a pair of goats in her yard. The wooden fence that encircled her home was covered in flowering vines, except for the gate, on which there was a pair of small bells to announce visitors.And there were always, always visitors.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Deep in the woods of Gilneas, there once lived a witch. Her cottage was small, humble, and yet greenery covered it, grasses and mosses keeping the bricks together long after time should have torn them apart. She grew her garden on her roof, meticulous and fruitful, and kept a pair of goats in her yard. The wooden fence that encircled her home was covered in flowering vines, except for the gate, on which there was a pair of small bells to announce visitors. 

And there were always, always visitors. 

Anaise Allen stood as the bells jingled, setting aside the hefty tome she had been reading. The door eased open of its own accord before the young woman outside could touch it. The girl, no more than nineteen, with long, blonde hair and a belly heavy with child, stepped forward cautiously. 

“I heard you could-- that you help.”

“Of course, my dear! Come in, come in.” The witch pulled out a chair with a flick of her wrist, magic dragging it into place. “Please, sit! You shouldn’t stand long, in your condition.” 

The girl nodded and lowered herself into the chair with a wince. She rested her hands on her belly, breathing quickly, and closed her eyes a moment. “Madam Witch, I need your help.”

“Most who come here do. You understand the price?” Anaise tapped her fingers on the table as she sat once more, eyeing the girl carefully. 

“Will it hurt?”

“No, dear. It is only a bit of luck, after all. The same luck which brought you here, which made it so I can help you, would now belong to me. You won’t miss it at all.” It was a small lie, of course. Perhaps the luck would be necessary in the near future, but perhaps not. Luck often went unused. But it was the price. “You need only agree.”

“I agree.” The room warmed, and the girl gasped. Her skin, pallid when she had entered the door, glowed fiercely. It centered on her hands, pooling, until it dashed across the room. It stopped when it reached Anaise, and she coaxed it to her breast with a small murmur. 

“There. Now we may proceed. What is it you need, girl?” The witch smiled, teeth brighter and form almost taller than it had been before. Her presence filled the room, welcoming, warm, but far more real than it had been before. _She_ seemed more real than before. 

“I-I-- My husband and I have only been married for three months, yet the midwife says I’m surely further along than that. But I didn’t take him to my bed until I was married! I was a virgin!” 

Anaise’s eyes flashed. “Unlikely. If you aren’t truthful, there will be no helping you. You cannot tell me falsehoods and expect true help.”

“I-- I…” The girl ducked her head, trembling hands betraying her fear of the woman before her. “There was a man. I met him a few months before I married, and we met in secret. He was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a sharp nose. He dazzled my mind with promises and such lovely words, Madam Witch! I would call it magic, if I didn’t know better.”

“And you slept with him.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I didn’t-- I didn’t realize what it might mean until after I had been married and my belly started to show. My Bernard is nothing but excited, but his hair is as blonde as mine. If it-- will it have dark hair?”

Anaise pursed her lips, a small cup of tea floating in from the kitchen behind her. “I had intended to drink this myself, but it shall serve us better here. I feel the cards would not be kind to you tonight.” 

“What do I do with it?”

“Just drink, and I shall read afterwards.” The witch attempted a gentle smile. 

The girl drank, gulping down the tea as quickly as she could. She placed it back with a little too much force, a hairline fracture forming on the cup’s side. Not enough for the leftover liquid to seep out, but Anaise clenched her jaw as she took the china back regardless. It would have to be replaced, of course, and that meant an entirely new set. Anaise swirled the cup three times to the right, then carefully poured out the leftover tea into the saucer before swirling it another three times to the left. “Now, dear. What I see may not be exact, and it shall be open to interpretation. Tea leaves are not the most direct, of course--” 

As the witch looked down into the cup, the leaves faded away. Her eyes were drawn to the saucer instead, in which the tea rippled as new images formed. A scene laid out, the past laid bare. 

A man, tall and dark, with a nose as sharp as a beak, stood before the girl. He kissed her gently, hands roaming her chest. The girl was hesitant, at first. She pulled away, gesturing at the ring on her finger; an engagement ring, then, not a wedding band. The man laughed, leaning down to whisper in her ear, and the girl giggled. He laid her beneath him in the grass, and--

The saucer shattered, Anaise’s eyes filling with rage. She stood abruptly, her chair falling over from the force, her shoulders tensed. She took a deep breath, then another, and then seven more. Still, her hands shook. 

“Its hair shall be black.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide, and Anaise almost found some pity inside herself for the younger woman. She hadn’t known. The witch forced a smile to her face, and with another flick of her wrist a small pouch of herbs flew into her hand. “Don’t be alarmed, my dear. You shall tell your husband you can’t sleep, and that you’re making dream tea tonight, so as not to rouse his suspicions. You shall drink this instead, and then bury what’s left with the pouch in your garden, so the midwife doesn’t find it and know what you’ve done. You shall be sick-- very sick-- for three days, but you shall miscarry the child. The midwife won’t tell your shame to your husband, so long as she doesn’t suspect you forced the miscarriage.”

The witch smiled, and the bag gently floated to the girl. “You shall keep your Bernard, and your dark haired man shall not bother you again.”

Anaise slumped in the chair again as the girl left, head in her hands. 

Hours later, the bells on the gate jingled a welcome once more. The witch didn’t move this time, head buried in her tome once again. He came home at the same time every day from the market. They didn’t need the money, not really; she took gold from customers sometimes, and they always seemed so very lucky. But he enjoyed the market, and her customers often made him uncomfortable. So he still whittled, still kept his old stall in the market, and he never had to face the truth of what his wife was.

He opened the door with a boisterous laugh, dark hair and eyes glinting in the setting sun. His beakish nose, which she’d always found charming, was red with drink, and the witch gave him an indulgent smile. “You’re later than usual, Nawat.”

“Anaise, my love!” The tall man crossed the room in only a few short strides, picking her up out of her chair and spinning her with ease. “I missed you!”

“You could’ve come home early, dear. There was only one customer today, and she left some time ago.” The witch’s smile was forced, but her husband didn’t notice. 

“Yeah? What awful problems did you solve for her? Did you fix her a potion for true love, one to find her a marriage?” He kissed her through his teasing, leaving gentle pecks down her neck. “You do too much for them, dearest.”

“I helped her rid herself of an unwanted child, actually. You see, this tall, dark, handsome man had bewitched her, whispering promises he couldn’t keep.” Anaise pushed away, face dark. “He promised her true love and happiness, even though he was married and she was engaged. And then, once he’d taken what he wanted, he abandoned the poor girl. Cruel, isn’t it?”

Nawat sighed and shook his head, sitting down at the table. “Not all men are as wonderful as the one you married, Anaise.”

“She was barely more than a child, Nawat.” The ice in her voice cut through his drink, and her husband’s eyes grew wide. “Barely more than a child, but you didn’t care, did you? You thought you were so clever. You thought you were so _smart_. Did you even tell her who you were? Did you even tell her who _I_ was?”

Again, the witch seemed to grow. Her husband cowered before her, her tome floated beside her as she spoke. “You’ve always been so clever, love. You snared me with your wit, got the awful witch in the woods to marry you. But you never believed, did you? You never thought much of the rumours, the things the townsfolk love to say about me. I loved that about you, once.” 

Nawat shrieked, body contorting in pain. Feathers slowly sprouted from his skin, blood covering the glossy black quills as they pushed out. They poked through his clothing, shredding it, and Anaise smiled.

“My clever, clever boy. Did you really think I’d never find out?” His nose calcified and hardened, the beak turning as black as the feather that continued to grow from his skin. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t _punish_ you?”

Nawat groaned, pained. His face, malformed and still change, watched her with wide eyes. A croak came from his newfound beak, but the witch shook her head. “No, love. There is no forgiveness. There is never any forgiveness.” 

The crow that had once been her husband cawed, flapping its new wings in agitation. “You shall stay with me, Nawat. And if you are a good, clever boy, perhaps I will change you back one day.”

There was always a price. There was always a cost. 

“But perhaps not.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bradensbrook was quiet, or at least as quiet as it could be under siege from long-dead elves. The Gilneas who inhabited the area, long divorced from the conflict between the horde and the alliance, accepted the undead woman who had once been among their number with only minimal complaint. There were plenty of undead around, after all, and so long as she wasn’t focused on killing their families, the villagers of Bradensbrook had much larger things to worry about. 

Anaise smoothed her skirts and tipped her hat to the villagers. They regarded her largely with suspicion, yes, but that was no unfamiliar feeling. The bitter distaste on their faces was something she had been used to even when alive. The sum of gold she placed into their hands assuaged their fears, however, and the witch rented an abandoned cabin on one of the many hills. 

The crow on her shoulder preened himself, croaking happy caws to more than one young lady as he and his mistress passed through the town. Though the women took no notice, Anaise’s hands shook until the pair reached their new cottage. 

“You're cruel, Nawat.” Despite the words, no true emotion reached the witch’s voice. With a small flick of her hand, the crow’s croaks shifted in tone, a melodic laugh coming from the bird’s throat. 

“I'm the cruel one? Anaise, my love, do you even still hear yourself when you speak? I swore I ate your eyes, not your ears.” The bird-- her husband-- hopped to the back of a rotting wooden chair. “At least I didn't kill you.” 

“You aren't dead, Nawat.” The witch brushed the dust from another rotting chair, folding her decaying body into it. “That makes one of us, at least.”

“Might as well be. It's been five years, woman.” 

“Yes. It has.” 

Nawat scoffed, wings flapping in irritation. He opened his beak, some scathing retort on the tip of his tongue, but paused. When he opened his beak again, his quiet tenor filled the room. 

“ _Down in the lonesome meadow where the violets bloom and fade,  
There sleeps my blue-eyed Ellen, so lonesome in her grave.   
She died not broken-hearted, nor from diseases fell,   
But in one instant parted from the home she knew so well._” 

Anaise’s lip twitched as she stood from the table, wiping the dust and dirt from her skirts. 

“ _Last night the moon shone brightly; the stars were shining too.  
Up to her lonesome cottage, the jealous lover drew,   
Sayin’, ‘Ellen, let’s take a ramble and o’re the meadows stray  
To murmur and to ponder and to plan our wedding day’._“

The crow preened his feathers, voice still for a moment as he watched his wife grip the broken table. “Are you lost, dearest?” 

“No.” 

“There's a lot of clutter on that floor. Do you need me over there so you can see through my eyes again?” 

“No, Nawat.” 

The bird shrugged. “ _’Down on this field I have you, you have no wings to fly,  
No mortal arms can save you; sweet Ellen, you must die!’  
Down on her knees before him, she pleaded for her life,   
But in her snow white bosom, he plunged the fatal knife._”

Gilneas had been similar to Bradensbrook. That was likely why the villagers had settled there, of course, but the familiar architecture drew Anaise away from her husband’s singing. Her own home had been set up in much the same way. There were even protective etchings in the kitchen, and she'd passed a long-decayed spell as she entered the house. She'd put her own wards in the same places, once, a long time ago. 

The witch, still alive, laughed and spun in the kitchen. Her black hair, once long and thick, lay largely on the floor, only a short bob remaining. “What do you think, Nawat?” 

The crow that was her husband croaked, flapping his wings. 

“What? You don't like it? It's our anniversary tomorrow, dear heart. I thought to surprise you.” 

The bird turned his head away. 

“Well, I shall have a better surprise for you tomorrow. An anniversary gift.” The other woman sighed. It had gone on long enough. He'd learned his lesson, surely. And, despite the hurt, she missed him. 

The bells at her gate made the witch jump as she quickly spelled away the loose hair. “Come in!” 

“Madam witch, I--” The boy was no more than nine, panic filling his body. “We gotta leave! They told me to tell everyone, there's-- I dunno! They're turning people into wolf monsters, and--” 

The joy dropped from Anaise’s face. “We’re evacuating.” 

“They say only pack what you really need! The ship’s gonna leave as soon as it can, you gotta hurry!” 

The witch nodded, hands clutching at her skirts. “Of course. Go warn the rest, then.” 

“Yes, miss! Be careful!” The boy darted away, leaving her gate open as the witch stood in the doorway. She glanced at Nawat, uncharacteristically still, until the ground trembled beneath her. She shrieked, grabbing onto the doorway. There had been small tremors in the ground, lately, and the witch scolded herself for her fear. And yet--

Anaise looked around her home. It was deep in the woods, far from the nearest village. That the boy had remembered her at all was near a miracle. But wolf creatures? They'd be at home in her woods. Her lip trembled, and she nearly screamed again when she felt claws on her shoulder. Nawat rested his head against her cheek, his quiet caws almost a song. 

“The cards. I need-- I need to know if we’ll make it.” 

Anaise grabbed at her deck, taking three cards and laying them before her. First, the Ten of Wands. She shook her head in annoyance. The Ten of Wands stood for oppression, yes, but often the oppression of success. But it was never a clear card. 

The second card was turned, and the witch bit back a gasp. The Devil, while reversed, stared up at her. Nawat cawed, the question obvious even in that form. 

“Weakness, love. An evil fate.” Her voice trembled, but she smiled at the bird as she flipped the last card. 

The Five of Cups. Loss. Sorrow. Something left, yes, but something lesser than what there was to start with. 

She stared down at the cards, a bitter laugh working its way from her throat. Anaise stood from the chair, the bird on her shoulder startled from the sudden movement, climbing his way to the rafters instead. The witch fumbled towards the kitchen, shaking hands grabbing at her knife, the one in the block that she never used, the sharpest of the bunch. 

The bird cawed, panicked, flying towards her. Anaise only smiled at her husband as her wrists ran red. 

“ _Your parents must forgive me for the crime I have done,  
I'll go to some far country; I'll never more return.   
‘I never have deceived you,’ came from her dying breath,   
‘I never have deceived you,’ and she closed her eyes in death._”

The undead woman clicked her tongue, drawn back from memories. “I hate that song, Nawat.” 

The bird chuckled, the final refrain quick on his beak. “ _Down in the lonesome meadow where the violets blood and fade,  
There sleeps my blue-eyed Ellen, so lonesome in her grave.   
She died not broken-hearted, nor from diseases fell,   
But in one instant parted from the home she knew so well._” 

Anaise glared, and her husband’s laughter quickly faded back to the simple cawing of a crow. “Happy anniversary to you, as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fwiw i didn’t write that song. it’s an old murder ballad, though i can no longer find where i originally heard of it…


End file.
